


the most dangerous thing is to love

by unsealie



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Canon Universe, Daydreaming, Emotional Hurt, Hands, Hopeful Ending, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Slow Dancing, What-If, fantasies, jaskier is so in love it hurts, jaskier's love language is providing for his loved ones send tweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsealie/pseuds/unsealie
Summary: When you look at someone such as him, you see a happy soul. You see someone so full of joy, full of life, that you can’t believe it could all possibly fit inside one human vessel. Jaskier was full of that joy, fit to bursting at the seams with it. He remembered seeing himself like that, remembered when he felt that joy so intimately, once upon a time, but then the loneliness crept in on him.His writing was what changed the most, in the wake of this loneliness. So much so that he stuck to his regular song rotation and never let these new ones debut. They were too full of him.Jaskier didn’t know if he meant himself or Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	the most dangerous thing is to love

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the Geraskier Reverse Bang, based on wonderful art by [@geralt-of-riviass](https://geralt-of-riviass.tumblr.com) on tumblr, which you can view [here](https://geralt-of-riviass.tumblr.com/post/643568967943847936/i-can-finally-post-the-piece-i-did-for-the)! rated teen for swearing. the song jaskier sings in the fic is a snippet from a poem i've written!
> 
> thank you to em ([@contemplativepancakes](https://contemplativepancakes.tumblr.com)) and aaron ([@in-love-with-writing002](https://in-love-with-writing002.tumblr.com)) for betaing! the title is from achilles come down by gang of youths

In the years that were to come, Jaskier could admit that he wasn’t proud of the person he had become in the wake of loneliness. 

When you look at someone such as him, you see a happy soul. You see someone so full of joy, full of _life_ , that you can’t believe it could all possibly fit inside one human vessel. Jaskier was full of that joy, fit to bursting at the seams with it. He remembered seeing himself like that, remembered when he felt that joy so intimately, once upon a time, but then the loneliness crept in on him.

It was the most evident in how he wrote. His poetry changed drastically after the realization that the person he loved most didn’t love him back, not how he wanted him to. He wrote about the vines that wrapped themselves around his heart, his lungs, tethering him in place and never letting him breathe, cursed forever to watch as his love went and fell in love with others. He wrote about how cold his fingers felt, his hands forever empty while his love’s were overflowing, his cornucopia plentiful while Jaskier’s remained barren. He wrote songs, too, about heartbreak and want, about love never returned, about white hair and golden eyes. 

He stuck to his regular song rotation and never let these new ones debut. They were too full of _him_. 

Jaskier didn’t know if he meant himself or Geralt.

-

They had left town early that day to make good progress to the next one. Jaskier had walked alongside Roach, boots dragging and kicking up dust. Their trip lacked his usual chatter, or the noise that came from his composing. It was eerily silent; Jaskier let himself get lost in his mind and didn’t bother trying to find his way back to the present.

At the last town, Geralt had spent a few days trying to find some beast Jaskier had never heard of. A shaelmaar, was it? No, he could have sworn those monsters lurked in the caves of Nilfgaard, not in the backwater towns of Velen they were exploring. For once, he found that the details didn’t really matter. It was a difficult fight; one that could be a wonderful song, if he really tried, but the words wouldn’t come. 

Call him dramatic, but he was heartbroken. Jaskier, renowned for his song and for his _prowess_ in bed, had been rendered down to his pain. There was no flowery way to put it. He didn’t bother trying. For once, he didn’t want to glorify how he ached.

Eventually they found a place to stop for the night, and Jaskier was able to finally rest. Setting up camp took longer than usual, if only because Jaskier wasn’t helping as much as he usually did. He was tired in all of the ways he could think of. He managed to get their bedrolls laid out, as close as they always were, but tonight, the distance between them was uncomfortably large. He took his time setting out his lute and his bag of meager belongings, anything to ignore the way Geralt looked at him. Perhaps Geralt was worried, or even angry that Jaskier wasn’t holding his own like he had learned to do. Jaskier could feel eyes lingering on him, longer than they normally did, but knew it wasn’t for the reason he so desperately wanted. 

In his dreams, Geralt would look at him with a gaze so full of love he would drown in it. Geralt would love him back, in the safety of his mind. They’d hold hands like real lovers did. In his dreams, Jaskier revelled in the softness of Geralt’s lips on his own, maybe slightly chapped from the dryness of the air. He’d fall in love with the way Geralt’s hair felt when he dragged his fingers through it. 

Love was a fickle thing, something fleeting and fearful. Jaskier knew quite well how love could rampage through someone, leaving them with nothing. He knew love so intimately, knew Her sweet and tender caress, knew Her sharp and cutting knife. He was familiar with the ruins She was capable of creating. Despite it all, Jaskier was a man so deeply in love, and not even that changed when his mind ran away from him. But in his dreams, Geralt would love him, too, and perhaps that was the most unrealistic thing of all. 

-

Geralt left, soon after that, and Jaskier dragged himself back from where he had gotten lost. It was a relief, being alone. Jaskier thought he never really wanted to be away from Geralt, but at the same time, it hurt being so close. The Witcher had gone to hunt for their supper, and when he eventually got back Jaskier knelt, and he would bloody his hands cleaning the thing, and they’d eat in silence. 

There was something to be said, about the blood on his hands as he skinned the rabbit Geralt had found. Noble born, Jaskier had never needed to get himself dirty. As a child, he had had everything he had wished for. Oxenfurt had been kind to him as well, keeping him fed and warm and housed. But now, sitting in the grass with a blade in his hands and fingers stained red, he thought that he’d do this over and over again. Kill and clean and cut, over and over and over, for Geralt.

There was something to be said, about the intimacy that came with providing for someone you love.

The night passed calmly, and Jaskier found himself humming a tune that had become awfully familiar over the last few days. A song he was working on, or rather, a poem he was trying to put to a tune. He had his notebook in his lap, lips moving almost imperceptibly as he repeated the lines in front of him over and over again, trying to find the right way to sing them, to make them flow like he wanted.

It was, unsurprisingly, a song about the sadness that had made a home in his chest. He thought the music that accompanied it should be something softer. This might be a song to take back to Oxenfurt; it’d sound much lovelier with a harp in the background instead of his lute. 

Jaskier looked up from his notebook and his eyes met ones made of molten amber. His breath caught in his chest and he acted without thinking. His song needed a bit of practice, yeah? He needed to apply it to a real situation. This was a perfect opportunity, even if he was acting on impulse. 

Jaskier stood and walked over to Geralt, the fire warm against his back. The scene was set perfectly, the sky dark and full of stars, their small camp lit up in oranges and reds. Jaskier held his hand out to Geralt, a tremor running through his fingers. A fool, he thought, to think he’d be allowed to have this, even for a moment. But he _wanted_ , and for once, he knew he wasn’t capable of denying himself.

“Why?” his companion asked, and Jaskier shook his head.

“Just humour me, Geralt. Please.”

They stood together, hand in hand, and Geralt was silent as Jaskier arranged them to his liking. A warm hand on his waist, the other tucked against Jaskier’s own palm. Their bodies were pressed together and Jaskier let himself have this, even if it was just for one night. 

For one night may bring many more, if Jaskier let himself hope.

_“I have died, waiting for you to come home to me.”_

Together they danced to a song Jaskier was yet to be familiar with, but it felt fitting for the situation. Their steps were shaky, and it took a while to get into the rhythm of it. Geralt didn’t really know how to dance like they did in balls nowadays, seeing as he had learned a century ago as a boy standing on Vesemir’s feet. Jaskier could imagine it now, what it would be like to teach Geralt modern dancing. He would do it, but this was only temporary. He didn’t have time to teach, only to exist in this moment as it was, even as they stumbled over each other. 

He guided Geralt through the steps of their simple dance, letting himself get lost in it. Geralt didn’t know how to dance, that much was obvious, and Jaskier would have laughed at the irony of it all. Their relationship was just like this, wasn’t it? Jaskier, steady and still, knowing what he wanted but unable to ask for it. Geralt, faltering and shaky, stepping on toes. He wasn’t anywhere near perfect, but it didn’t make Jaskier want him any less.

_“My bones were buried under the weight of the house you built.”_

They kept moving, swaying and stepping and rocking. Jaskier thought that one day, he would have liked to have this. A life with Geralt, where they could dance pressed together, late at night when sleep would never come. A cottage by the shore, perhaps, somewhere where the weather wouldn’t bother Geralt’s stiff joints. He hoped for a large kitchen, where he could watch his family grow, even if his family only ever consisted of himself and Geralt. 

They’d have a winter wedding, if he got to choose. He could imagine them standing exactly like this, dancing after their ceremony. He could see himself tucked into the harsh lines of Geralt’s body, softened by age and retirement. Witchers didn’t retire, Jaskier knew, but the boy inside of him thought that Geralt would, for him. 

_“And sometimes you dance in the kitchen, wrapped in arms that are not mine.”_

Jaskier sang softly as they danced together, stepping on counts of four, Geralt’s hands sweaty in his own. It was something so small, knowing Geralt’s hands got clammy when he was nervous, but it made Jaskier smile. There was vulnerability in knowing someone like they knew each other. Jaskier could tell you every odd thing Geralt did, the things he did to prepare for a fight and then to prepare for bed. Geralt could tell you the same.

It didn’t feel like he was looking, but he was. Amber eyes followed Jaskier everywhere, and his pupils expanded when he saw him after even the shortest of separations. His swords had been bloodied time and time again for Jaskier’s sake, offering protection from the wild wood around them. His love was a silent one, maybe, but it was strong and unyielding. Jaskier just hadn’t noticed it yet.

_“And I dance along to a tune I do not know._

_Anything to be close to you.”_

Their dancing came to a slow stop, and Jaskier’s head fell forward to rest against Geralt’s shoulder. His chest heaved as he cried, holding onto the man he wanted but knew he could never have. He let himself cry, just this once, something he was telling himself more and more. _Just this once_ . He knew it would hurt, having to let go, but he was so fucking selfish and he _wanted_ so badly. Jaskier let himself have this, just this once, and he let Geralt hold him through it.

Geralt held him and didn’t say a word, and a part of Jaskier hated him for it. He hated Geralt for caring, hated him for _being there_ , but not in the ways Jaskier desperately wanted. He hated that he hated him, and hated even more that he loved him. 

Geralt doesn’t say anything, no matter how much Jaskier silently wishes he would. There are no words for this.

-

Jaskier pulled himself away eventually, dragging his wrists over his eyes, wiping away his tears. There need not be any evidence of his shame.

“Let’s go to bed,” Geralt whispered, reaching out to Jaskier before ultimately letting his arm drop back to his side. Jaskier desperately wanted to reach back, but he couldn’t deny how his eyelids were drooping. 

“Bed,” he echoed, taking a step away from Geralt, and he thought that that was perhaps the most painful thing he’d ever done. After baring himself so fully for the man in front of him, the loss of his touch felt like rejection, even if he had never outright declared his love.

But that was for another day, when Jaskier could stand to look at the black feelings swirling in his chest. For now, he laid down on a bedroll that smelled too much like Geralt, and sighed as his eyes fell shut. He slipped into sleep with his hand out, Geralt’s just a hair’s breadth away, so close to touching.

Almost, but not quite.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> find me on tumblr [@lovelyeskel <3](https://lovelyeskel.tumblr.com)


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